


Silence

by valderys



Category: Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Genre: Community: highwaymiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-20
Updated: 2010-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valderys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They take a lift, him and Jack, in a stock truck heading back near their fishing camp.  Jack sure does take chances, but somehow Ennis can't bring himself to regret it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt #21. 'Jack and Ennis stealing kisses and groping each other in a stock trailer' in 2006.

The sun gleamed red through the slatted sides of the truck, its heat already faded to evening cool, the dust of the road showing up as a diffuse haze that gave the light a depth and lustre it didn't deserve. Jack was humming and tapping his boot against the metal sides, but the engine and the wind made a powerful combination and Ennis found himself imagining the sound, rather than hearing it. Imagining it, rather even than feeling it, as the trailer's rattle and vibration rode through his bones as easily as his one and only rodeo ride had thrummed through his skin. Just like this. Dangerous. Alive. Solitary.

A broken fan belt on his truck. Jack's much newer, and presumably more reliable vehicle, left at their campsite this time around, so they were stuck with this ride. A stock truck on its way home. The stockman red-faced and taciturn, made more so by his unexpected turn as Good Samaritan. The sheep inside with them huddled, and somehow Ennis wished he could do the same, but such were the hazards of their trips. Mundane, and yet as intense as that dust thrown up into the sunlight. Why should anyone know or care if a couple of friends hitched themselves a ride? And yet he worried.

Jack was oblivious. His eyes half-lidded, he slouched and swayed with the truck's movement, one boot up against the frame, his jeans stretched tight against his legs. Fabric moulded to thin muscle, his belly protruding just a little over his belt buckle, the casualty of time and Lureen's dinners, and a sedentary job that pulled in more bucks than Ennis would ever see even if he worked his whole life through. It made Ennis smile, that thought, knowing Jack would be ok, would be taken care of, would lack for nothing now, when once he had thought of him driving round the country, prey to anything, to the winter, to the snow, to the crunch of bone and sinew meeting sawdust. To a drifter's life.

He blessed that little girl he had never met. Never would meet, more than likely. He blessed her and her child, that boy, Jack's son; he thanked her every day. For getting pregnant, for being forced to marry. For not finding another more suitable father for her child. For being honest. He hoped sometimes that she didn't regret it too badly. He hoped that much for her, as he hoped for nothing for himself.

Jack was looking at him now, Ennis realised. Smiling back at him, as he felt his own lips curved into an unfamiliar bow. It felt unnatural, like he was being stretched in ways that were alien and out of joint. 'Bout right, Ennis thought. That's true and all. And then the truck jolted, a pothole maybe, and the sheep swayed, and one of them cried, a lonesome sound that put him right back. Back on the mountain. He could feel the shiver of cold in the air, he could smell the coffee brewing. He could feel Jack, whipcord thin, pale and brown and scalding, under his hands.

He could feel Jack, rough and warm, and metallic sharp, under his hands, in his arms. The truck had jolted and Jack had lost his balance. Twisted and stumbled into Ennis, his smile widening, his buckle cold under Ennis's fingers as he caught him, other hand closed tight on cloth. Jack's body all pressed close against him, like it fit better than denim. Like he knew it fit, so right, when he let himself think about it. Like he never did.

Felt Jack's lips scrape along his jaw, hat tipping off, falling. Just a trip, a stumble, no need for his heart to beat so fast, no need to slide a panicked glance towards the back of the truck's cab. No window there anyway, no reason to be afraid. Except he was, most all the time, and his fingers clenched, gripping hard, until Jack's teeth closed on his neck, softly biting. Blindly Ennis turned his head, seeking for salt and heat, for the tickle of Jack's ridiculous moustache, for the soft slide of hair as it curled against his ear.

Vibration buzzed along his nerves, and he realised he'd moaned, and couldn't hear that either. The truck rattled and the engine roared. They were in an ocean of sound, but were as silent to one another as they had been on the Mountain. As silent, and as alone. The sheep pushed against their legs, the greasy scent of lanolin and fleece as familiar as a mother. Comforting, and fragile. Jack leaned on him, heavily, his weight like a promise, and licked a greedy stripe that prickled on Ennis' skin. Jack leaned further, travelling down Ennis' body, and painfully now, Ennis dug in his fingers. His fear hurt him, it closed up his throat, it settled between his shoulder blades and made them itch and sweat. It made him as hard as a rock, and his erection pressed painfully against the buttons of his jeans as the fear throbbed in him, made him light-headed. Made him swear. And he couldn't hear that either.

Jack was leaning, was tipping himself, sliding down Ennis' side, his ass in the air, his back flexing and tense under the plaid shirt. Saliva filled Ennis' mouth, and he sucked air through his teeth, the whistle of that sharp against his tongue, a wince of cold against his teeth. Jack's hand palmed at his cock, a hard determined squeeze, sudden and shocking. The rough material was vise-like, all at once, too much feeling, and nowhere near enough. If he thought he would be heard then Ennis would have told Jack to stop. He would. He was strong enough for that. Even if he wasn't strong enough to stop the fear.

But he was mute. In their rattling, roaring world of silence, he hung on and let Jack slide down, let him do what he might. His body was throbbing in time with the engine of the truck, and he didn't care any more. For just this time, he didn't care. He reached and let the feel of Jack's shirt run through his fingers, as he wondered what Jack would do. As he anticipated the next touch, the next rough gesture, the thrum of that anticipation bled through his skin, into his muscles, making them twitch and jump.

Jack slid down, and Ennis held his breath, and then Jack picked up his hat with a scooping motion and pushed himself off, rocking back onto his feet, with a practiced shove. One boot lifted onto the metal side of the truck, as he leaned there, casually sinful, and brushed his hat off, pieces of straw falling slowly to the floor. Ennis opened his mouth to cuss him out – what had he been thinking? When the gleam in Jack's eye told him everything. They didn't need words, him and Jack. Ennis liked them, sure, sometimes, over a fire, late at night, once the whiskey was drunk, and Jack was spinning his tales. But they didn't need them. Not words. Not the two of them. And Jack's sly look, the way his mouth half turned down, that said it all. Ennis let his smile come tug at his lips again, just a touch, and let it stretch him, alien and out of tune as it was.

Jack was a damn tease, but that was all right too. And Ennis watched as Jack laughed then, silent amidst all the noise, and he thought, that's about right. That's us, keeping our silence in a roaring world. And we'll have tonight, and we'll have tomorrow, and maybe a few more nights down the road some. We had the Mountain, with its dawnings, and its sky, and the great wide open spaces where the world should have been.

The fear had most everything else, but the silence? The silence was theirs.


End file.
